Grim Reality
by brooklynhale
Summary: "Time to accept reality and let's be honest it's fucking grim." In which VIOLET comes face to face with the end of the world and her new sense of reality. walking dead. season one. eventual daryl/oc.
1. grim reality

_**GRIM REALITY. **_**synopsis**

_**VIOLET MONROE**_ didn't know how to survive.

Even before the 'end of the world', she was barely holding her head above water; drowning. In movies, they depict it as someone screaming loudly begging for aid as they splashed their arms around as a wave pulls them under before a dramatic and heroic save that had them washed up along the shore.

That wasn't the reality.  
Drowning was quiet, motions were slow and subtle; panicked in silence. One minute they're floating above the water and the next they were gone.

_**VIOLET MONROE**_ was just barely holding onto a life vest that kept her from submerging. But as the dead start walking and attacking the living it's as if someone stabbed a hole in her life preserver.

Luckily _someone_ was there to pull her out.

**( GRIM REALITY CAST! )**

caitlin stasey  
_**VIOLET MONROE **_  
"You saved my life, you're my person okay. Where you go, I go."

norman reedus  
_**DARYL DIXON**_  
"You could'a died you know that right? What the hell were you thinkin."

andrew lincoln  
_**RICK GRIMES **_  
"We look after each other here, don't you ever forget that. We have your back, always."

steven yeun  
_**GLENN RHEE**_  
"I think we're gonna make it. I really do."

— as well as —

lauren cohen  
_**MAGGIE GREENE**_

emily kinney  
_**BETH GREENE**_

john bernthal  
_**SHANE WALSH**_

sarah wayne callies  
_**LORI GRIMES**_

laurie holden  
_**ANDREA HEATHER**_

chandler riggs  
_**CARL GRIMES**_

melissa mcbride  
_**CAROL PELETIER**_

endlesllywhtlck ©️ 2019

⌜_**THE WALKING DEAD SEASON 2**_⌝

_**DISCLAIMER**_ ⏤ the characters/plots/lines that are unrecognizable from the show belong to me, as well as the OC's and their storylines. they are not to be permitted or copied in any way shape or form, i work extremely hard on my stories and it would break my heart if someone just stole that away from me, there's a difference between inspiration and copying so don't try me. all the rights go to the writers and all that jazz!

_**NOTE**__: another Daryl fic because im predictable and cant stop the multitude of ideas that come to me when i get into/back into a certain fandom lmao ALSO CHNAGED THE PLOT BECAUSE IM AN INDECISIVE FUCK_

**( WARNING ! ) **• AGE GAP RELATIONSHIP(all 200% legal tho) •smut • profanity • death! • violence • explicit descriptions of gore • depression • ptsd • sexual abuse • emotional abuse • child abuse • and perhaps more ? please don't read if you're uncomfortable with any of the things mentioned.

—brooklynhale


	2. part one

_**GRIM REALITY**_. pre-season one.  
"_PLEASE PLEASE HELP ME_!"

[ IN WHICH _**VIOLET MONROE**_ REALIZES JUST HOW FUCKED SHE IS. ]

[ IN WHICH _**DARYL DIXON **_REALIZES THAT THE PRETTY BLONDE GIRL WITH EYES SO WIDE WOULD DIE WITHOUT HIM. AND THERE WAS NO WAY IN HELL HE WAS GOING TO LET THAT HAPPEN. ]

— _**part one extra cast**_ —

bruce willis  
_**JESS COLLINS**_  
"Don't worry sweetheart, nothing's gonna happen to you. Not while you're with us."

emily browning  
_**CELESTE KNIGHT**_  
"I need you to run."


	3. one

_**GRIM REALITY**_. into the woods.  
_"I NEED YOU TO RUN!"_

_**HER MANGLED LIP AND OBVIOUSLY FRACTURED NOSE**_ were caked in dried blood, congealed and cracked. The now browning blood had showered down her face like an influx of rain down a window pane. She vaguely clocked the odious gash that was severed down her arm at the top before it met her shoulder. The blood flowed like a lazy river, never seeming to cease as it continued to drop down the length of her forearm and drip from the tips of her fingers. She was able to set aside the pain, she'd grown used to the hurt long before these cuts and bruises.

It was the fear that was suffocating her. It sat on her like pillow held tightly against her mouth and nose while her arms flailed and feet kicked beside her. The pain was something she had long since become intimate with, and each greeting was met with a kiss; one she always rolled the dice with. She was invariably uncertain if her lips were meeting pain, or if it was just death in disguise. But fear wasn't a beloved old friend or a lover of the night — fear was her interminable adversary.

Fear stalked and accompanied her every move like a wolf prowling in the thickets ready to lunge at the sheep—the lamb—who had no chance of escape. It whispered words of doubt that embedded themselves into her brain like nails from a hammer. It crawled up her back with tiny legs of spiders as it made it way to her spinal cord, shredding it from its home rendering her crippled; unable to move. Fear encased her tightly, wrapping her together in an impenetrable hold similar to a straight jacket, and Violet Monroe was no Houdini.

Despite the agony and paralyzing fear, she never stopped running. Violet Monroe was a survivor, not in the way you expected to see. She couldn't defend herself nor could she shoot a gun or wield a knife, but blood still pumped through her veins and air still entered her body. She'd survived this long through everything even before the dead started to walk. Violet Monroe kept on breathing but she wasn't sure she ever truly lived.

_"I need you to run."_

Run she did. Ten times over in fact, as she hadn't stopped her feet for what appeared like hours as the sun began its descent while her legs screamed with the demand of reprieve. Her nemesis clutched her with a malicious vice as she attempted to figure the following move she needed to take. She was never really one to take lead; to make the decision. She'd already long divagated from their original plan leaving her stuck without any idea on where to go next.

Violet had always been fugacious; unable to stay in one place for too long especially when fear pounded on her chest. They made a plan in order to accommodate her, Celeste always administered to her without a word about it.

Do you know that saying, that if something seemed to be too good to be true, it probably was? Violet existed on the dreadfully sharp edge of that sentence. With the brunt of darkness that loomed in her memories and deep in her amber eyes, she always second-guessed the light. She was dubious when it came to the bright parts of life; the good.

Celeste was _the good_.

She begged and pleaded and fought as much as she could but Violet wasn't a survivor of skill-she was a survivor of sheer dumb luck and generous intentions of others. She kicked and scratched and screamed till her voice went hoarse and tongue swelled. She collapsed on the very sword she danced on, it showed no repentance for her as it slashed through what was left of her light.

Without a plan nor a light to guide her Violet was heading off with her own thoughts leading her — which never served as a good idea and yet it was all that she had left.

She had greatly underestimated the thickness of the Nothern Georgia forests. Even if she hadn't it was the only option she had in front of her in that split second she had to make it. The option flashed in front of her face like some 'chose your own adventure' video game that her brother-in-law used to prattle about regularly.

**RUN TOWARDS TOWN** or **RUN TOWARDS WOODS**.

She fixed on the latter.

Senseless seeing as the girl had no knowledge concerning the woods, nor how to track her way out of it. With her lack of experience in such an environment, the girls choice wasn't entirely baseless, none of her decisions ever were. Despite her unassuming disposition and meek reservations, the girls' mind operated through information reasonably before proceeding the action. She weighed the two possibilities, and the elected one appeared to just barely surpass the other. Thus, leading her into the dense forest, one that would hopefully lack the abundance of 'infected' people that would undoubtedly be gathered in town.

Leaves and twigs caught in her chestnut hair as she pushed passed tree branches and bushes. If there was a single thing she could be grateful for, it would be the boots she donned on her feet. The solid yet flexible combat boots had been a staple in her wardrobe since a handful of Christmas's ago, and only then were they fulfilling more necessities than simply fashion. They carried her effortlessly through the troublesome mud and over fallen trees while protecting her ankle from rolling when jumping. She had nothing with her, no emergency bag, not a single change of clothes, and she certainly didn't have her guiding light, but what she did have a was damn good pair of shoes.

They allowed her enough traction to surge forward against the thick wet leaves whenever she heard a snap of a branch or a rustle in the trees that had her mortal enemy seizing onto her with a crushing hold. Whether it was a rabbit or one of the dead it didn't stop fear from swimming through her veins like amphetamines.

_"I need you to run."_

So she resumed running. Despite her body begging her to stop, despite her heart pleading for a rest, and despite her brain telling her, that she needed rest. She kept moving because that's what her light told her, she had never led her astray so why would she now. She wanted her to run, so she did and she wasn't going to stop.

Her chest was constricting in absolute and utter anguish as she ascended up a steep hill that was far more treacherous for her to manage. And yet, she continued.

_"I need you to run."_

So once she got to the peak of the hill she picked it up again; running. The ever growing pain behind her eyes struck her momentarily as if she'd just realized there was any pain at all despite enduring it amongst the other focal points of injury for the last few hours. Pounding, throbbing, like a toothache in her brain, right between her amber eyes, an excruciating band wrapped around her mind that was tightening with each and every step she took.

_"I need you to run."_

So she did. Her face dripped in cold sweat as it traveled the length of her body covering her in a clamminess that sent a razor-sharp chill through her muscle and straight to the bone. She no longer was sure if the night was cold or it was just her — she felt frozen...in her core. How could she have just left her there? The cold stalked her through the forest like a specter death, the bitter wind laughed as it tore right to her heart and turned her blood to icy waste. Her muscles continued to ache and grind like the cogs in an old machine.

_"I need you to run."_

She kept going. There was a tightness in her throat. Her lungs felt like the elastic situated inside an old pair of underpants, just sagging instead of contracting for the next breath. She needed oxygen but the cold air stabbed at her lungs with needle-sharp icicles. Her eyesight started to blur as she cried out for aid, for something to save her from the terrible fate she saw in front of her.

_"I need you to run."_

She stopped. Why was she running? Why did she need to run? She couldn't remember anymore, why was she running? A snap of a twig to her right perked in her but she couldn't find it in herself to seak out the sound as her mind ran in thick quicksand trying to disentangle itself from the disorder. The fog of confusion had obtained control over her thoughts, mucking up her ability to see and remember. Why did she need to run? Another noise behind her was detected—a footstep. She didn't turn. Why did she need to run?

A throaty voice cleared behind her. "What're you doin' out here girl?"

Her heart hammered in her ears, pulsating loudly and taking over the rest of her senses as she twisted around, her eyes were scarcely able to register the sight of two men in front of her. Both armed with serrated looks in their eyes, and for a second her enemy didn't approach her. Fear didn't clutch onto her. She stared at the men. "Running," She recounted to them as if it was the simplest answer in the world, and to her, it was even though she couldn't recollect as to why. But she knew she needed to and that was good enough for her.

Her vision went fuzzy again; then she saw nothing at all. Her consciousness was floating through an empty space filled with a thick static. The inky black stars boomed in her ears drawing out the begging pleas that came silently from her once her knees buckled beneath her weight finally giving out.

She felt her body being drained until finally, all was black

_**AUTHORS NOTE**_ — I'm so so thrilled with how this chapter went ! I'm kinda trying to change things up with my writing style so I hope no one minds it too much ! Because I am enjoying and am so excited to get started into Violets story! Thanks for reading !


	4. two

_**GRIM REALITY. **_dixon.  
"_WHAT THE HELL_!"

**THE FOREST WAS SILENT BESIDES THE** normal chatter of the animals residing and the footsteps of the two men as they hiked through it. Silence was passed between the men as they walked, their boots slumping against the mud created by the rain during the previous night. They hoped another downpour wouldn't start until they were beneath the cover of the cabin—or rather their safe house for the night.

No one handled the end of the world well. Even the toughest 'sumbitch was somewhere out there losing his mind over the reality that was tossed on people like water to coals—that is if he was even still alive. The illness that had been described in the news during the duration of the last month or so had gone from a simplistic 'cold' to an intense outbreak. Jess Collins hypothesized with his nephew Daryl about what was going on as they traveled up the ridge to his remote hunting cabin.

Daryl simply grunted out his responses to his uncle who was trying to work his mind around what they had just seen. The younger of the two found it unbearable to curl his tongue and purse his lips in order to form substantive words. He didn't want to speak; not after what he had just witnessed.

He didn't know love, not really. The closest he got to it was from his Uncle Jess, who his own father went in and out of estranged contact with. Every encounter between Will Dixon and Jess either ended with the pair piss drunk or tossing blows at each other's face bringing up issues that had long since passed. With the burning desire to earn his father's respect, Daryl often turned a blind eye to Jess, disregarding him when he reached out. They were on good terms this last week, which lead to the group heading up the hill for a hunting trip. Throw some beers back, shoot their guns in the air, and take home some venison to cook up — it was supposed to be good. Therapeutic for the brothers who hadn't gone hunting with one another since they were in their early 20's.

Daryl knew one thing, however, if it seemed too good to be true then it probably was. They came out of nowhere like a crazed bull detecting red the second they laid their sights on the three men. They ripped into Will before anyone could even blink yet the elder man was quick to fight against the people who were tearing their teeth into his flesh. Would it really be considered a mercy kill if he deserved it?

Daryl was unable to raise the gun himself no matter how many times he fantasized about doing exactly that. Jess rose up. "_Sorry, brother." _The shot reverberated against the pines as the bullet spat out of his hand. A river of blood flowed while Will Dixon waited on the shore for a boat to paddle him to hell.

In movies and T.V. shows no one actually cried. It was acting after all; not methodically. Crying has never, and would never be beautiful. It was raw and excruciating. Puffy bleary eyes stained with red, blotched mottled skin, nose wet and running. Dry body racking sobs, distraught heaving wails, weeping in wretched despair, silent tears rolling down fat cheeks, eternal flow of tears. Chains bolted around their throats with a key unknown, an anvil rested on their sternum, diamond gems that trailed down their neck and onto their heart escaping into the fabric they wore or slipping off their pouted lips.

A single tear. Just one. That's all Daryl Dixon would grant his father. Just one. Not for the man he was, but for the man he could have been. Daryl released a singular drop for the father he should have had, but never got.

Jess had remained calmer than the usual person who not only had just witnessed a pair of humans attack his brother but also had put his gun to said brothers temple. His finger clenched and it was over moments after it began. His intestines spewed onto the floor in pink-brownish coils the dark red blood that pooled around him was already darkening. There was no saving him. A _mercy_ kill.

Their feet stepped in perfect coordination like they had designed the choreography of the trek down to each and every footfall. Despite the stormy forecast, the evening light in the sky remained bright enough for the men to advance without the guide of artificial light. Such fluorescence and dominance could not be concealed behind the creeping somber clouds, the moon illuminated intimidatingly on the forest below it like that of the eye of the devil gazing straight into the soul of the damned.

Both men found tranquil contentment in the darkness of the night and without the trepidation it could almost be mistaken for a simplistic night out.

"It's not much further now," Jess guaranteed, his voice was unlike nothing many had ever heard before. Like a drum, but deeper, like a tuba, but deeper. It was creamy, like butter, but it could be as rocky as rocky road ice cream. His tone was as low as the sun at midnight. Daryl nodded.

They proceeded in silence. Daryl favored the muteness just as he preferred to keep moving no matter the circumstance. Restless and itinerant.

Jess stopped; Daryl didn't like to stop. His eyes darted to his uncle in undeniable interrogation before he observed the elder man hold a finger to his chapped lips pointing at whatever was in front of them. Through the trees, they could detect a figure. Back turned to them gasping heavily — another infected _human_?

They stepped closer deliberately. Hands clutched tightly on the crossbow that Jess himself had gifted his nephew years ago. Jess' fingers wrapped around his rifle.

Eyes narrowed while brows concurrently furrowed. They were small — and it was a she. She looked wrong; incongruous. Being there in the heart of the thick dark woods alone. Like a velvet white couch occupying the outside porch of a meth house. A porcelain vase in a bull's pen. A single white rose in a blazing furnace. A kitten in the wolf's den.

Her chestnut hair draped down softly curving along the ends, streaked and matted with blood and grime; an assortment of leaves and twigs. Her arms quivered at her sides, bare and slick with the cardinal ichor. Jess questioned her. Why was she there? Was she even still alive? Was she one of the creatures that assaulted Will only hours ago. She wasn't coming after them the way the infected were, she didn't turn with chomping teeth and reaching hands. She shivered in place. Goosebumps were all but apparent to the boys who stood feet away.

She shifted. Dead on her feet. "Running." The second her raspy voice spoke knees buckled sending the bloodied and beaten girl to the forest floor. Her head crashed against the earth with a loud crack as she slumped against the sheets of leaves and mud.

Jess surged forward the instant she began to waiver yet dropped behind a second too late. Before his arms could catch her, she like a child's balloon slipped from him like a toddler with wobbly fingers. Without a consideration or a blink, he crumpled to his knees alongside her, striving to feel a pulse on her neck. Pleading and praying to feel at least a dull thump—anything.

"She alive?" Daryl urged glancing between his uncle and the damsel who was drenched in blood. Her nose stood at a crooked angle with a trail of desiccated blood over her lips; unmistakably broken. A deep gash on her shoulder was now leaning nastily in the dirt unquestionably growing contaminated and infected with each second she laid there defeated.

Jess nodded. "She's alive." He hurled his rifle to Daryl who despite carrying his crossbow was able to catch it with a certain amount of ease. He reached his arms underneath the blonde girls' legs and another behind her back, raising the lithe body into his arms.

"What are ya doing Jess?"

"She's not dying out here Daryl," Jess narrated finitely without room for discussion or dispute. "I ain't gonna let her and neither are you. Let's go." Within the forest, the two foreign men carried the bloodied lady to their newly established residence.

Unknowingly, Violet Monroe had obtained a guiding light. Different from the one she'd grown used to following but just as radiant and warm.

Hopefully, it wouldn't dim.

ahhh I'm so fucking excited for this story. It takes me a lot longer to write these chapters than my other stories where the writing style is WAY different but I feel like this is worth it! Also this 'part one' chapters of this story is based off of 'survival instinct' the walking dead game that gives some background to the Dixon's past at the start of the apocalypse, some things are going to be changed to include violet but the foundation is from 'survival instinct'  
And if you're reading this I hope you're enjoying it! And if you are please drop a comment ! It'll make me really really happy!


	5. three

_**GRIM REALITY. **_unknown_**. **_  
_"WHO ARE YOU?"_

_**"ITS TIME TO GET UP MY FLOWER,"**_ A soft voice called out to Violet whose eyes were just slowly blinking open. She groaned shooting her hand to grab the back of her head where a dull throb was attacking her. She leaned up, her eyes squinting striving to rid the sleep from them as she glanced around the apartment she and Celeste shared. Confusion gripped her. The white walls were littered with imagery of the two amongst their years together, and their orange cat slept lazily on the couch.

"Are you feeling okay?" The woman inquired as she stepped closer to Violet, sinking down on her knees to look her in the eye. Violets breath caught at the sight of her, beautiful as ever. Celeste looked at her worriedly, concern weighing heavily in her eyes. Violet nodded dumbly. Words couldn't escape her as she gazed at the face of the woman who had sacrificed herself in order for her to live. Tears welled thickly in her eyes as she shot forward unable to stop herself as she pressed her lips tightly against Celestes. Violet kissed her. Soft and slow and she tasted like summer, like cherry popsicles, and fireworks. Celeste met the kiss with just as much urgency as Violet wanted and needed.

Violet drew apart only slightly to lean her forehead against Celeste's, her eyes closed tenderly; content. "It was just a bad dream," She explained, "Just a dream." A deep vibration in the back of Celeste's throat rumbled, a mix of a growl and a moan. Violets closed eyes furrowed, and falteringly she opened- and fuck did she wish she hadn't.

Long gone was her beautiful caring Celeste with sparkling green eyes and silky ivory skin. Instead in her place occupied a rotting, pallid girl whose eyes were scorching red and lifeless. A wrenching stench wafted off of her, overtaking the apple shampoo she used religiously, and her smile- the once pearly white set of crooked teeth were now saturated in blood with pieces of flesh caught between the snaggled teeth. Violet couldn't move as she stared at the lifeless translation of her girlfriend, the love of her life was dead. So was she. Celeste lurched forward, the sight of bloody teeth were the last things she witnessed before everything went black.

Violet Monroe was no newcomer to nightmares. Nightmares covered her sleep as a woolen blanket hammered and nailed to the sides of her bed, powerless to escape the blistering heat of the darkness. She endured them and the disturbed restless sleep that came along with them, and within time they seemed to ease only when they appeared again they did so tenfold. You could run away from dead monsters chasing after you, and you could fight back against an assailant but how could you survive against your own mind? How do you combat yourself? And if you win, do you really?

As the years went by and her nightmares substituted into her current fears and subconscious anxieties one thing invariably remained the same. She didn't scream herself awake, she didn't kick and punch in her sleep trying to save her dreamself from her reality. Her night terrors didn't end in a screeching bang, they ended in a soft whimper. She sniffled softly, her eyes opening once more and she hoped this time it would be real; not some level of subconsciousness the wanted to fuck with her some more.

She was in a cabin by the appearance of it. It was a mess, for a lack of a better term. With debris and beer cans scattering the table and ground. Deer heads were mounted on the walls with glass expressions. Shelves were jumbled with random odds and ends, she noticed as she leaned up from the sofa she had been laid on, a fleece blanket draped across her body. She shoved it off feeling perspiration drip down from her neck and between her cleavage as the wood stove, only feet from her was blazing hot with flames. The modest cabin was already hotter than a mid-summer day.

Her mind struggled to try and remember where she was, and why she was there. For a moment she questioned if this was the house she and Celeste were supposed to go, but even in her stupor, she knew that Celeste was gone. She attempted to lift her arm up to push her hair back behind her ear only to yelp at a searing agony that materialized in it. She pushed her shirt down, eyes furrowed curiously at the bandage that was wrapped around the affliction beneath it. A bit of blood was already bleeding through the white sterile patch but nothing to note she was bleeding out at the moment. She reached her painless arm up to push back her hair and wondered where she was.

Flashing of her running through the woods came to mind.

_**'I need you to run.'**_

She could hear Celeste's voice in her mind, repeating the last thing she'd ever said to her on a never-ending loop, it was the last time she ever saw her, the last time she would ever see her. She could remember running through the woods, falling over more times than she could count. Her vision impaired by the flooding of tears and darkening night. The different sounds of the forest, a rattle there, a rustle there. She couldn't be sure if it was animals in their natural home, or the dead searching for their next meal, regardless she kept going. She kept running because Celeste told her to.

A murky memory converged over her. Two men. She thought back to, investigating why she was there, or how she was there? She couldn't remember. She flinched detecting the front door slam closed, and instinctively without a thought, her knees found themselves at her chest, arms coiled around them as she seemingly held herself together.

"Well good mornin' sleepin' beauty," A bald man joked joyously as he tracked through the front door, a rabbit hanging bloodied in one hand and a rifle in another. Behind him, another man walked through though he had a crossbow attached to his back, with a duffel bag in his hands.

The first man was tall, well over 6 foot and easily three times her weight in sheer muscle. Leaves and dirt and various other gunk from the forest adorned his thick brown boots that thudded against the wooden floors. He looked tired and worn, yet a genuine smile still came to his face when he looked over at Violet trying to put her at ease. Blood stained bandages plastered his forehead from the scuffle with the dead earlier that day. Cuts and bruises decorated his face. Mud and blood streaked his tattered clothes.

The following man was just as filthy as the first, though he didn't bother to smile in order to put the shaking girl at peace. He was a few inches shorter than the first, yet still over a foot taller than Violet herself. He was leaner though not weak in any comparison as he hauled the crossbow around his back with effortlessness.

Her eldest enemy seized her in a vice she wasn't able to free as tears blurred her shaky vision. She held herself tighter with trembling hands as she looked at the men who set their things down on the counter of the kitchen beside the living room she resided in. The first man made his way back towards her, to which she flinched back from the second he was just feet away.

She scrambled to the edge of the couch. The dread crept over her like an icy chill, numbing her brain. In this frozen state, her mind offered her only one thought. It is today. There is no avoiding it. She was like a cow being herded into a truck for the slaughterhouse, only the cow doesn't know where it's going and she did. Why else would two hulking men drag her sorry ass to some cabin in the middle of nowhere?

"Please," She whispered, quivering as tears fell rapidly from her chocolate eyes. "Don't hurt me please—please just let me go." Her clammy hands gripped her jeans in a tight strong enough for her knuckles to go white. Her eyes flickered throughout the room, searching for any way out, pleading for an escape. Her heart thudded swiftly in her chest, like a prisoner trying to escape the bars.

The bald man who approached her held his hands upward, exhibiting no ill intent. He perched on the footrest several feet away from the couch giving her plenty of room and space while the other man stood at the door observing the scene intently, inquisitive eyes. "Now now, sweetheart we ain't gon' hurt you. Swear." She stared at him blankly. "My names Jess, this here's my nephew Daryl," He nodded his head back towards the man leaning against the wall.

"Please don't hurt me," She sobbed. She wanted to fight back, to scream and run but she wasn't sure she could anymore. What was she fighting for? Celeste was gone; the world terminated with her. Every good aspect of her life was gone, so what did she have that was worth fighting for? Her life? What a laugh.

"He said we ain't gonna hurt you girl," Daryl snapped at her, annoyed and off-put by the weeping and whimpering. She wasn't their problem, he didn't know why his uncle swept her up off the ground out there in the woods, they should have left her there to fend for herself. But even as he thought it, he knew that it was a lie. The guilt would have eaten him alive if he left her out there alone. Frail as a twig weighing nothing more than a buck-ten soaking wet she would have been swept away by the wind and would have been nothing but an appetizer for the dead, hell even just a dinner mint.

"Daryl," Jess warned sending a withering look to his nephew. He knew Daryl didn't do well with strangers, nevertheless crying women but Jess could tell just how terrified the small girl was and coming at her with ferocity would only fuel to scare her more. "We ain't gonna hurt you or kill you or nothin' okay? We found you in the woods and you passed out, this here's my cabin, we came up here to gather some supplies and get our heads on straight until we head back to town to get his brother," Jess explained figuring that if she knew exactly what was going on, she'd relax more. She remained tense.

Her eyes flickered between the men, doubtful. She had a hard time believing a single word that ever came out of a man's mouth but this one, Jess seemed straightforward and honest. She wasn't convinced, trusting them could get her killed but then again what did she really have to lose. Violet wasn't suicidal she never had been, despite sometimes wishing she was. She could never find it in herself to wrap the rope or swallow the pills but instead, she was simply reckless with her life. It wasn't a willing thought. She followed each action subconsciously without thought. If there was something that could risk her life, she would do it.

She played with her life like it was the pool in a blackjack game, betting it away. If she died, she died and that would be okay. If she lived, that worked out well too.

Jess huffed leaning against his knees to catch Violets eyes, even though they flickered away. She'd always been uncomfortable with direct eye contact. "Now listen, we ain't keepin' you in here against your will if you wanna head back out there you go right ahead. I patched you up as good as I can, your nose too so you shouldn't have any problems bleedin' out but it's them dead ones out there you oughtta be careful of. We got a spare knife to give you but other than that, if you head out here you're alone, girl. Aint no rescue team comin' for you."

Violet appreciated his blunt honesty. He didn't waste any time sugar coating anything or dancing around clouds for her sake, and she knew he was right. She'd seen what was out there and she stood no chance against them alone. She felt the muffled throb of her nose, which he must have reset for her while she was passed out, something she was rather thankful for. "Or you can stay here with us for the night and we can drop you off somewhere tomorrow when he head back into town. You got any family?"

Violet rubbed her nose with the back of her arm. "No."

"Well, we can figure something out later then if you wanna stay," He offered not missing a single beat. His eyes softened at the girl in pity but didn't pause long enough for her to see it as he continued. Violet appreciated it. Truth be told she'd lost her family long before this, but losing Celeste — that killed. "You gonna stay?" It was a lot for her muddled brain to try to figure out and decide, on one end she could stay with these men and possibly not die. On the other, she could go out into the woods alone and for sure die. She stuck with the better odds and nodded. "Great! Glad to hear it sweetheart, you gotta name?"

"Violet."

"Well Violet, Daryl's gonna cook up this rabbit he caught and I gotta get some shit together before tomorrow. I grabbed these," He grabbed a stack of clothing from the arm of the sofa. "Just a few mismatched things from some ladies I've had up here, all clean of course. Just figured you might wanna change outta your bloody clothes, but if not that's just fine too," He told her kindly as he handed over the stack. Violet took it with shaking hands.

She sniffled. "Thank you."

He nodded curtly as he stood. Tapping on the window was heard as a branch smacked against it in the wind, Violet flinched startled. Jess glanced at her with concerned eyes. "Don't worry sweetheart, nothings gonna happen to you. Not while you're with us," He promised with a warm grin on his face before he traveled off to the backroom. In her experience, no one ever lived up to their promises.

Violet remained still for a while holding the clothes in her hands as she stared at them blankly. Her mind was spinning, trying to piece everything together, trying to understand. She could feel the desiccated blood adhering the cotton of her clothes to her skin in a secure attachment. She needed to get up, to change. She would feel better, and steadier, she knew that but she couldn't find it in herself to move. She couldn't move. She could hear Daryl hitting things in the kitchen beside her, and she knew Jess was right down the hall but her mortal assailant had tied her to the couch. She couldn't move. Fear possessed her.

_**'I need you to run.'**_

Celeste had used her final words to push her to keep going. She wanted her to live, to keep on operating and breathing. She couldn't just break down into a puddle, and just die right where she sat. She wanted to. Just lay there for the rest of her life, whether the dead or dehydration came first she didn't care. But Celeste wanted her to keep going. The woman who had looked after Violet every single day since they met all those years ago. The woman who protected Violet with her life. The woman that showed her how to love, and how to accept love. The woman who she loved. She would keep going, if not for herself than for the woman she loved.

She stood from the couch on shaky legs like a newborn deer walking for the first time. She paused before heading towards the kitchen, her body shook like she was naked in the middle of a blizzard despite the raging heat of the cabin. She watched Daryl for a moment as he cooked the rabbit meat on their propane stove, the meat sizzling in the air. She stood unsure of how to speak, like a toddler.

"You need somethin'?" Thankfully for her, he spoke first. Daryl's eyes shot to her, questioning and annoyed. Truth be told he was still struggling with the death of his father and the worry for his brother was downright eating him alive. He'd prodded at Jess, telling him they needed to go get Merle. His uncle was insistent on coming to the cabin to gather their supplies before heading back into the brunt of the mess. Daryl could see the logic, didn't mean he had to like it. Now they were tending to some girl they found in the woods who didn't seem like she could be worth a lick. She would surely die alone, now they were stuck babysitting the girl. And she was standing in his space as he tried to cook the food he'd have to share with her.

"Wher—Where can I uhm, change? Is there like a bathroom?" She asked, the anxiety in her voice trembling it sounding as if she were on the verge of tears which she very much was. She held out the clothes for reference as if to corroborate her story, trying to ensure him of her actions as if he would be afraid of her. Hell, maybe he was, with the way his eyes narrowed pointedly at her. She could have been a secret assassin or something. Looks could be deceiving, no one had to tell Violet that. She learned it the hard way.

"Down the hall, to the left," He directed her in a typical surly manner, his face straight and impassive. "Jess left a canteen and a rag in there if you wanna clean up or somethin'." He just wanted her gone out of his space. He wasn't heartless enough to kick her out in the cold, but the girl was going to need to figure out her own plan soon enough. They were going to get Merle, end of story. There was no side trip to take the girl where she needed to go; no detour.

"Thank you." She thanked him kindly, her voice just loud enough to be heard as a whisper.

He said nothing, just twisted around and continued cooking up his food leaving Violet to her own devices. Favorably, the girl had a rather good sense of direction, and it being a small one bedroom cabin helped just as much. The bathroom was meager, which was to be expected. A small off white sink that had old spat out globs of toothpaste hardened into it and long strands of hair littered the floor tile. Obviously not belonging to Jess.

She looked at herself in the mildew covered mirror, horrified at the sight.

Her hair was hardly combed back into a disordered ponytail with grime-covered strands slipping from the band that haphazardly held it together. Dirt and mud was smeared across her cheek and forehead. Streaks of blood from her busted nose strewed down across her lips and off her chin in a dried blackened river. Her nose, back in its proper spot due to Jess, now had an obvious permanent angled look to it. Her t-shirt was ripped as were her jeans, both caked with dried mud and blood whether it was all hers or not she couldn't tell. Her ashy face was sunken in with deep-set bruises under her eyes...but her eyes themselves were a different story.

Once a window to the world and the stars now were an empty void of pallid lifelessness. Once they were created out of stardust cut out from the sky and placed inside her body, now were like an extinguished candle melted into ever-growing darkness of misery and despair, no longer flickering with the fire of spirit. Her thick eyelashes were clumped together with the saturated mascara that once coated each individual lash. The makeup that once supported to enhanced her beauty now demolished it with dark circles framing her eyes, and black streams traveling down her cheeks.

She stared at the reflection, not recognizing the girl who peered back at her. She watched the unknown girl's lip start to quiver and tremble. As much as she tried to hold it in, the pain came out like an uproar from her throat in the form of a silent scream. The beads of water started falling down one after another, without a sign of stopping. She hit the wall and tried to scream, but her voice was melted by the sound of the silence. The muffled sobs wracked against her chest. The world turned into a blur, and so did all the sounds. The taste. The smell. Everything was gone. The last painful emotion slammed against her before she lost the feeling of feeling. She fell back collapsing on the ground, her back halting against the stained shower door.

_**"I need you to run."**_

But this time—this time she couldn't.

she's finally met daryl! And things are off to a rocky start! Please please comment and let me know what you thought! I could really use some encouragement with this story!


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